Crow's Nest
by Pikachumaniac
Summary: In which pirates, magic, and alcohol join forces to give Zexion a headache. Incompetence aside, Demyx was admittedly the most interesting thing to happen in his life, but he really could have done without the kidnapping bit. DemZex AU. Dropped.
1. zexion

Title: Crow's Nest  
Summary: And this, Zexion thought, was precisely why he hated pirates. Unfortunately, he is about to discover that a punch to the gut does not always deter the determined, especially when someone is under the delusion that he might just be in love with you. Demyx x Zexion AU.  
Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts is not mine. Like, really.  
Notes: The reason for this fic comes out of my current trend of pimping Zexion out to all the other (male) characters. I have about five other fics in-progress, and when I realized that I had ones where I was pairing the guy with Sephiroth and Jack Sparrow but not _Demyx_, I had to come up with a fic fast for the sake of my sanity.  
This is the unfortunate result.  
There's been a recent flux of fic with pirates in them, but what can I say? They're fun. To be honest, the reason I'm irked with the idea of writing a pirate AU is actually because I already have one planned for a different fandom, and I rather would like to write that one. Hopefully I will, but for now there is this one.  
And a quick thanks to Pinkangelsakura, who listened to me whine about the title long enough to offer up a new one.

_chapter 1: zexion_

Zexion hated pirates.

This was, in short, a serious issue seeing how he worked in the only bar on Midgar, which itself was a tiny, isolated island that had once been bustling with business thanks to its convenient location. Merchants all over used it as a stopping ground for their goods, but with them had come the pirates. It did not take long for the latter to outnumber the former, and the island had quickly become less popular for legal sellers as the number of looted ships increased. When the navy formally abandoned the island—on the premise that it cost far more to defend the place than it was worth—nobody was particularly surprised. It was instead a verification of what everybody already knew. The island more or less belonged to the pirates, which made it a very bad place to be if you didn't like them.

But then, it wasn't as if Zexion had _chosen_ to land on this particular island. It was hard to choose anything when you were suddenly dumped into the middle of the ocean, with no place to go and only a piece of driftwood to cling to. Considering the circumstances, he knew he was lucky to have even ended up on an island that was actually inhabited, and the fact that said inhabitants were not of the man-eating variety was really just an added bonus.

It was at this point that his luck probably should have run out, but instead of ending up a bum on the streets or in some other comparably distasteful position, he had met Tifa Lockhart. Tifa had been looking for someone to help her out at her bar—her last helper had run off to join some environmental terrorist organization—and ended up with Zexion instead. Despite the fact that he obviously had no knowledge on alcoholic beverages and was even still wet from his long-term ocean dip, Tifa had taken him in with no questions asked.

Most people would have found that odd, but that was simply the type of person Tifa was. When those same most people would not have bothered to give him a second glance, Tifa had taken him in, without any expectation of a return for her generosity. She was, in short, the kind of person people wanted to have as a friend, if not because of the eye candy she so obviously was but because she was sweet, helpful, and knew how to kick a generous amount of ass should the need ever arise. She looked out for him despite the fact that he was a stranger and had no money (unless one counted that piece of driftwood he had), offering him work, a home, and friendship when most everyone else—including himself—would have taken advantage of his situation or simply left him to rot. He should have been grateful, and he probably was. But that didn't change the fact that what he really wanted, what he _needed_, was to get off and the hell away from Midgar, which was the one thing Tifa could not help him do.

Zexion was not really sure what it was about the island that almost made him want to grit his teeth and hurl himself back into the ocean, sans driftwood. It might have been because of its size, what with the place being so small that everyone knew your name, business, and history. And while most people knew his name and where he worked, the fact that they didn't know where he had come from kept them nipping at his heels, always wanting to know more. He had little interest in telling them and had expressed this quite often, but that did not serve to deter anyone. Instead, he found himself constantly pestered by the other residents to give them more information, fully knowing that the more they demanded, the more tight-lipped he would be.

Oddly enough, pirates tended to ask those kind of questions less often, knowing that their own sordid histories were a private matter unless they chose to reveal it. But that didn't reduce his distaste for the whole lot of them any less. After all, pirates were the other main reason why he wanted to get off Midgar and back to the continent, where he would hopefully never see the ocean or a parrot-bearing moron ever again.

It wasn't really anything personal, for the most part. Pirates were simply an affront to what some would have termed his anal tendencies. But honestly, the last thing he needed after spending an hour mopping the floor to be spick span clean was someone _puking_ on it, and repeatedly too.

"There isn't much you can do about that, I'm afraid," Tifa said one day (he had been glowering at the wall in what was most definitely not an hour-long sulk). "They're pirates, and they keep my business running. I don't like what they do to the place either, but it's a bar and you can't have everything perfect. Besides, pirates or not, everyone acts the same after they've got enough alcohol in them. You've just got to learn how to live with it."

"But that doesn't mean I have to like it," he grumbled, still not sulking in the least.

"Nobody said you have to," she replied, and they left it at that.

It wasn't only the rough and disgusting nature or pirates that got on Zexion's nerves though. There was also the issue that despite having the largest set of breasts Zexion (admittedly limited in his chances for comparable observation, but nevertheless…) had ever seen, Tifa was apparently not enough for those damn pirates. It didn't take long for them to realize—probably before he even did—that Zexion was quite pretty himself considering how he was _male_. It might have been the alcohol, it might have been desperation, but suddenly gender did not seem to matter as Zexion was suddenly inundated with requests for drinks, one-night stands, bondage games, and romantic journeys to the end of the world, none of which he had the least amount of interest in.

"You can't let them take advantage of you like that," Tifa said to him one day while they were closing up. It had been a particularly rough crowd, translating into a bad night for him as he narrowly escaped being groped and fondled. Luckily alcohol had a tendency of inducing clumsiness, but there had been more close calls than he cared for.

He glared, "Well, what am I supposed to do? Hit back?"

"Why not?" she replied. His scowl had only intensified at her blithe response, so she sighed and elaborated. "Sometimes it's the only way of getting their attention, and sometimes it's just a matter of respect. Most of them will just laugh it off or be too humiliated to do anything else."

"Like burn the entire place down?" he suggested sarcastically.

"It hasn't happened yet and it won't. Practically speaking they can't, seeing how we're the only bar in Midgar."

"There would be others."

Tifa had snorted, "I'd like to see them try. Cloud only makes deliveries for me, and it doesn't matter how much they tried to pay him. We have history together. So unless someone can figure out how to make rum from paopu fruit, this is the only place that is going to be serving the pirates their drink and everyone knows that. Why else do you think nobody has tried to build already? It isn't as if it's that difficult to open a bar here anymore."

Well, he had always assumed that the reason for the lack of competition had more to do with her breasts than it did with the crazy blond who delivered the booze and then spent the rest of his time moaning about some guy named Se-phy-roth, but he chose to keep that thought to himself. It didn't matter how much Tifa liked you; she had a temper and an impressive set of fists, a combination that was deadly to say the least.

Still, he had to admit that she had a point. Even if Tifa was wrong about the alcohol situation, as it seemed to him that if someone was desperate enough they would eventually figure out a way to procure alcohol damn the consequences, at the current moment the Seventh Heaven was the favorite watering hole of the many pirates coming in and out of Midgar. And nobody, no matter how drunk they were, would be stupid enough to risk losing that place, particularly if it would bring down the wrath of the other pirates who would probably become very, very short-tempered if they were deprived their rum.

Anyway, long story short was that Tifa was right. Six punches to the gut and one kick to the family jewels later, word had spread that he was not an easy target for random flirtation. He had to admit that he was somewhat relieved that nobody tried to burn the place down, but even then it was more for Tifa's sake than it was for his own. He still wanted nothing more than to get off Midgar, and more often than not it seemed to him that Seventh Heaven was keeping him tied to the island, rather than offering a way out. And the close proximity to the pirates that his work forced him to be only emphasized the ease with which people came and left the island, an ease that they so took for granted and never realized how much he desired.

Zexion knew that if he really wanted to, he could have hitched a ride from one of the pirates. But he knew that the price of doing so was not something he was willing to pay, and so he never even asked. Instead he watched them come and go, hating each and every one of them for taunting him with his only desire no matter how inadvertent it was.

Yet despite all of these hatreds he felt towards pirates, hatreds that he had articulated over and over and _over_ again to Tifa, the woman could not resist trying to hook him up with one of them. Maybe it was his own fault, having lived with her for three years and therefore allowing her into his life. It was no wonder that she would try to solve his problems as well, although how her theory that his angsting and scowling were a result of not having gotten _laid_ since ending up in Midgar, he had absolutely no idea. Whatever the cause of this particular delusion, it meant hell for him as she tried to find him _someone_ to 'hook up' with. And having discovered that he didn't like women or anyone on the island, that left only pirates.

_Pirates_.

"They're not all bad," she would say to him as they washed glasses at the end of the night. "What about the young man who came in? You know, the one with the long hair in a braid. He seemed like a nice-"

"No."

"He was quite handsome." As if that made up for everything else.

"He spit when he talked." This was, of course, the least of his concerns, but he had to think of something that did not have to do with the fact that handsome or not, a pirate was still a pirate and therefore hated on principle.

Tifa knew this, but that did not stop her from saying, "You are just going to find a problem with everyone, aren't you?"

He didn't bother to argue with that. Namely because it was true.

"What of the man with the little bone earrings and necklace made of human ears?"

"Now you are just mocking me."

Tifa was not one to be deterred, and he could not exactly stop her in good faith either. So instead he scowled and bore her not so subtle prodding with what he believed to be admirable stoicism, although once or twice he did 'accidentally' drop a glass that he was drying. Tifa took it quite well, especially considering how they always seemed to fly rather than drop, and usually crashed about three inches away from her head.

But just as Tifa took shot glasses being thrown at her head by an ill-tempered assistant, Zexion learned to live with his situation. It wasn't ideal, and he would abandon it at the earliest opportunity possible, but it was a life and it could have been much worse. In several ways it was actually quite comfortable, and he might eventually have been able to quash that desire to escape and learned to be _satisfied_.

Except then he met Demyx. And things, in an inexplicable, dramatic, horrible, and most of all _unwanted_ sort of way, changed to the point that really, there was just no going back.

_Ever_.

End notes:

Um, this is seriously my random fic, which means I haven't planned it out at _all_. And my writing is pretty screwy these days, so I don't know how often I'll be updating. I guess it all depends on how often someone can manage to pry the PS2 controllers out of my hands and force me to write, although at that point it's all dependent on how focused I can get. It's not that I'm a slacker, but… um. Well, we'll see. Hopefully it won't take me _too_ long to update, but I can't promise anything….


	2. dread pirate of the seas

Title: Crow's Nest  
Disclaimer: Still not mine, and no changes in the foreseeable future.  
Notes: And onto the chapter two. I'm still not entirely sure what I'm doing. I even tried to make up the following chapter titles, but that didn't work out seeing how I was stuck between two storylines. But then I decided to somehow consolidate both into one, which is bad for my brain but good for the fic because that means I get to write what I want to, and there you have it. Haven't really gone back to the entire trying to title everything though, seeing how video games are still happily taking up about 300 percent of my time. Darling little things.

_chapter two: dread pirate of the seas_

When it came to pirates, Zexion found that reputation was practically a matter of life and death. It was, for one thing, essential to dictating one's place in the pirate hierarchy, which Zexion had quickly discovered was about as convoluted and self-explanatory as a play written by a collection of alligators and wombats who, besides having no literary experience, also could not agree on whether the main character was male, female, or a jellyfish.

There was also the issue of playwrights trying to eat one another, a fitting characteristic for the dog-eat-dog mentality that pervaded piratical politics.

In short, the entire thing just did not make sense to anyone, and that included those who had initiated the entire process in the first place. But it seemed that the complete and utter lack of coherence did not really make much of a difference anyway, although he was not sure if that had to do with the fact that pirates did not make much sense either, or if there actually existed some other twisted form of logic that he was simply not privy too.

Not that he wanted to, anyway. Zexion found little interest in the entire mess; what he had picked up came purely from chance. Working so closely with the vagabonds meant that he could not really help it, and sometimes information could go a long way. The information about reputation was, at least, helpful in distinguishing between the opposite sides of the spectrum that pirates tended to fall into: those who were taken advantage of and those who got their way no matter the circumstances because, simply put, nobody wanted to screw around with them because they all liked looting, pillaging, and breathing enough to not risk limb and life.

There weren't too many people in the former category—they never lasted long enough to really start to accumulate to more substantial numbers—and few people in the latter as well, seeing how pirates were not really all into that respecting gig anyway. Most pirates were in the middle, at varying degrees, which was pretty much how the world worked, whether or not you were a pirate. The only thing that those outlaws had going for them was that when it came to fights for rank and reputation points, it usually involved a lot more blood and fascinating weaponry.

Or in the case of bar fights, chairs. Zexion was really good at dodging those after being knocked out three nights in a row. He had to be, especially since fights tended to break out about once every six minutes or so.

Bar fights were, of course, a constant when working in a bar. It was where they got their name from, after all. Expecting anything else was ridiculous—although he had, for a while, hoped anyway—but there were those times when the presence of one of those pirates at the top of the hierarchy would put an abrupt stop to all that ridiculous nonsense.

Zexion was always grateful for those reprieves, since it meant significantly less cleaning for him as bloodstains were a bitch to get out of the wood floor. But one look at the pirate who was the cause of this time's reprieve, and all he could think was how damn screwy the hierarchy (and pirates in general) was.

For based on reputation alone, one would be deluded into thinking that the man was a notorious pirate, infamous for his ability to sack a ship without warning. His list of conquests was long and extraordinary, and while some might have scoffed and chalked it up to exaggeration, there was always some sort of concrete confirmation that it really had happened, rather than being some overgrown rumor. Adding to that, everyone gossiped of how the man had a seemingly magical way of controlling the ocean itself to bring him to his inevitable prey, and nobody _normal_ could control the ocean, so flighty a temptress that she may be.

Zexion had always scoffed at those stories, but then he needed to have heard said stories in order to be capable of appropriately scoffing. And he had heard of Demyx, captain of the dread ship _Melodious Nocturne_, despite a dislike for the grapevine and a particular loathing of it when it had anything to do with pirates. But if Demyx's reputation was so big, so widely known that even _Zexion_ had heard of him… well, it meant something.

Or at least, it meant something other than this… scrawny idiot to whom common sense had denied bestowing her wonderful gifts because she just _knew_ it would be wasted.

And she was one hundred percent correct in every aspect of that belief.

Despite having the lowest expectations possible—awe-inspiring or not, this Demyx character was still a pirate and therefore horrific in some manner—Zexion had still expected someone… someone who commanded respect, at the very least. Most likely there would be a great deal of muscle involved, and a canny intelligence or slyness that had gone wasted in a pirate. He expected that there would be something _special_ about the man, and in a way he was right. Just in the wrong way. Because when Zexion saw Demyx, his first impression was of a goofy guy everyone picked on because he didn't have enough brains to fill a hummingbird egg. He also looked puny enough to be a seventeen year old brat, which meant that Zexion really had to bite back the urge to demand identification. Not that Tifa required it, or that pirates ever _carried_ such things unless one counted the various tattoos and brandings (all of which they were more than happy to show off, much to his disgust), but the urge was rather strong and he nearly had to bite his tongue off to resist.

It did not exactly help that not only did Demyx look like a kid, but he really acted like one too. He was loud and obnoxious, singing bawdy songs—in-tune, thank god, and admittedly his voice was pleasing to hear but terribly unsuited for songs about wenches and whores—and trying to get various passerby to join in. And worst of all, the most horrific sin anyone could have in Zexion's opinion, was that Demyx also happened to _hold_ his liquor like a child, which was to say he did not hold it at all.

As Zexion stepped over the latest puddle of vomit to spontaneously appear on the floor he had _just_ cleaned, he scowled and willed every customer in the bar to spontaneously combust. To his disgust, they all remained alive and combustion free, although one _did_ get a fork in the eyeball, causing him to fall to the floor screaming (although Zexion knew for a fact that said eye was wooden). Unfortunately, seeing how that one person was _not_ Demyx, some more direct reaction was required. With that, he grabbed the pitcher of rum the captain was about to down before a single drop could touch that godforsaken mouth, a definite eye twitch beginning to take over his face.

"Hey!" Demyx cried out in surprise, sounding like a child whose favorite toy had been taken away. "That's mine!"

Zexion glared. Now, a one-eyed glare was not particularly impressive, especially when it was one-eyed only because he seemed to never have heard of a comb—which was strictly untrue because as any self-respecting emo angster could tell you, it actually took a lot of effort to maintain the curtain of hair over his right eye to give off the air of appropriate emo-ness—but he must have managed it quite nicely because Demyx immediately closed his mouth. Unfortunately, the puppy-eye look was still there, but Zexion was completely and unaffected by its soft plea thanks to his lack of heart.

"No more," he snarled, shoving the cup at a random pirate wearing a red bandana and too much eyeliner, who grinned and accepted it with cheerful ease. "I won't have you puking on my floor anymore!"

"But it isn't your floor!" Demyx wailed.

"I'm the one who cleans it!"

This earned him a long, curious look from Demyx. At this, he could not help but feel somewhat nervous, although it was not because he was afraid Demyx might set some pirates on him to 'teach him the meaning of respect', or whatever it was that pirates did when they weren't getting any. No, Demyx was starting to look a little green, and Zexion stiffened in preparation to bolt in case the idiot decided to use him as a receptacle for any more projectile vomit.

What he didn't prepare himself for was the sudden scream and subsequent tackle to the floor, which missed the vomit puddle by mere inches. "I'm so sorry!"

His only response was to snarl and try to shove the guy off, but Demyx just clung on _tighter_, all the while whimpering 'Sorry!' for causing Zexion trouble. It didn't seem to occur to him that what Zexion wanted now was not apologies but to be twenty miles away from the guy, possibly with a loaded cannon for extra protection. Either that or to scream bloody murder, but then he was not about to stoop so low because of someone like _Demyx_. So all he could really do was try to get the pirate off, only to find that it did not work as Demyx started to screech apologies into his ear, rendering him temporarily deaf and possibly insane, which would work wonders when he was on trial for murder.

"What on earth… Zexion?"

"Tifa," he replied calmly. Or at least that was what he had wanted to sound like, but instead he ended up just wheezing. It didn't really matter though since Demyx screeched even louder, albeit cheerfully, and bounded off of Zexion to run over to the bartender.

"Miss Tifa!" Demyx squealed. And Zexion did not use that word lightly; no, he was quite against it actually, but there was simply no other way to describe that disgusting sound Demyx made when he launched himself onto (and off him, much to his relief although most of it was overridden by pure, undiluted revulsion) Tifa, who laughed and returned the gesture with a strength—Zexion smirked ever so slightly at this—that was sure to crack a few of Demyx's ribs.

Demyx didn't seem particularly affected by this though, just laughing (with only the barest whimper of pain) as Tifa mock-glared at him, "I thought I told you not to call me that! It makes me feel _old_. And do I look old to you?"

This was followed by another squeeze, which caused Demyx to grimace, "Okay, okay! I give! But, uh… tell me. Who's this guy? Does he work for you now? What happened to Barret?"

"Oh, he ran off to join an environmental terrorist group. This here-"

"Are you serious?" Demyx interrupted, causing Tifa to give him a _look_.

"Of course I am," she frowned, before punctuating this declaration with a particularly severe squeeze. "Are you questioning my honesty?" Her subsequent glare was, however, not directed at Demyx but at Zexion, who had been smirking. One look at Tifa and he had quickly reverted back to his usual scowl.

"Anyhow, this here is my new assistant, Zexion. He's been here for three years already… just goes to show how long you haven't been back, doesn't it?"

"I wanted to come back, but the timing wasn't right!" Demyx protested before turning to smile at Zexion. "Well, it's really nice to meet you! I really am sorry about the floor..."

Zexion felt slightly peeved when Demyx didn't immediately cower at his glare, although that might have been because it missed its intended target, instead causing an unnamed background character to swoon and faint. Demyx seemed completely oblivious to this development though, instead holding his hand out in what Zexion assumed was a plea for peace and forgiveness. It could have been a poisonous viper the way Zexion stared at it. For one thing, he had no intention of making up with Demyx after the guy had tried to… _glomp_ him. And secondly, he had been under the impression that pirates exchanged greetings via sharp and pointy objects, not handshakes. And while he doubted that Demyx had anything up his sleeves—in part because the guy was not _wearing_ sleeves—he could not help but wonder what the motive behind the gesture was, particularly when combined with Demyx's sincere smile.

No matter how Zexion tried to analyze it—and he didn't, no not really, since he had made it a personal preference not to waste his brain cells on trying to figure out what motivated obvious morons as it was likely to just make his head hurt without getting him very far—the intention behind the smile and the gesture seemed to be nothing more than what Demyx said it was. Which in itself was utterly bizarre; Demyx seemed sincerely pleased to meet him, and while the sentiment was not returned, it was worth further investigation to how one of the most feared pirates of the area could… be so happy to meet someone for a first time, especially after they had gotten off to such a bad start. With the exception of Tifa, pirates and the residents of Midgar were not the kind of person to be happy about making new acquaintances. They were much more likely to try and figure out your weaknesses so that they could stab you in the back.

But wasn't that how most everyone was?

Throughout this internal contemplation, Zexion had not moved one inch to shaking the proffered hand. Not even when Tifa gave him a questioning look. She was obviously starting to wonder if there was something wrong with him, but Zexion barely seemed to notice it as he blinked slowly at Demyx.

An awkward silence had fallen over the entire bar (a rare occurrence indeed), and Demyx was looking distinctly uncomfortable although the smile still stretched across his face. But still, he did not take the hand. Instead, he was about to start concocting a plausible reason why he could not in good faith take the hand—something to do with a contagious disease was most likely, although whether or not Tifa would punch him for implying stupidity was some sort of epidemic was worth hesitating over—when Demyx suddenly withdrew it to put over his mouth.

"I don't feel so well."

Zexion winced internally and waited for the inevitable spew of vomit to hit the floor. Instead, Demyx—perhaps deliberately, although it was hard to tell—threw himself in Zexion's arms, who in his surprised failed to drop him on the spot.

"Hm. I think it's time for you to go back to your ship," Tifa said briskly, looking stern. Well, as stern as one could look when grinning evilly. Zexion could just imagine the devil horns and tails that were trying to poke their way out of her skin, particularly when she waved down the pirates that had stood. Probably members of Demyx's crew, ready to help him back. "Have Zexion take you."

"What?" Granted, he was on some level prepared for this, but… _what?!_

"It's okay," Demyx said, cutting off Zexion's protest before he could even start his prepared twenty-minute speech about why it was dangerous to his mental health to do as she said. "I can… I can make it back?"

"Is that a question or a statement?" Tifa replied. "Don't worry. Zexion will be _happy_ to take you back. _Right_?'

The question was more a demand, the kind that said, 'You will do exactly as I say if you do not want the entire universe to know that each night you cuddle up with Pinky the Purple Penguin, and you will do it with a radiant smile on your face or so help me, Pinky the Purple Penguin will be Pinky the Purple Pieces of Rags and Stuffing.'

Now, Zexion did not have a Pinky plushie of any kind. And he only had one secret, which was not only **not** embarrassing to the point that he would have to burrow into a hole for the rest of his existence if anyone else found out, but was a secret even to Tifa. The most she could do was blackmail him about his fondness for the company of kittens and the taste of apple cider, neither of which Zexion was too ashamed of. But even then, Tifa was still a force to be reckoned with, so the most he could do was glower at her as he tried to heft Demyx up into a position that would not wreak hell on his arms and back should they be like this for any longer than twenty seconds.

"Don't stay out too late!" Tifa's admonition rang over their heads as Zexion resisted the urge to screech and toss the useless pirate at somebody's head. He managed and instead gritted his teeth, repositioning Demyx for the sixth time in ten seconds before stumbling out of the bar while still trying to maintain some form of composure even as he started to buckle under the weight. He had, after all, never been the most… muscular of people—patrons often spoke loudly of his 'twig-like' features, and more often than not to his face—and Demyx was both taller and heavier than him. He toyed with the possibility of simply dropping Demyx and kicking him to his ship once he was out of view of Seventh Heaven, but somehow he got the feeling that Tifa would find out anyway. Besides, kicking Demyx in the head repeatedly would not reveal the location of his ship, and Zexion was not about to be saddled with the guy any longer than he needed to.

"Sorry about that," Demyx muttered as Zexion controlled his wheezing.

He did not reply to that. Anything he could say would be a lie, and anything he would say would probably result in his throat being slit by unsavory creatures (namely pirates).

"Really, I am…." Demyx said after a silence, which had been punctuated only by Zexion's short gasps from lack of oxygen. Oh yes, physical activity was not his specialty. He was a man of intelligence, of mental ability… not of break back physical labor and monkey-like idiocies!

"I know," he said shortly. And he was not sure if he said so to shut Demyx up, or if he actually meant it on some level.

He could imagine Demyx's watery smile. "Um, turn here."

"Where is your ship, exactly?" Zexion managed to ask in a somewhat even tone. It was the only thing he trusted himself to say now; besides, he had already been nice enough as it was. He was sure he had used up his 'being nice' quota for the rest of the month.

"Oh, well… you see those lights over there? Next to the boarding house?"

His heart sank; the boarding house was on the other side of the town from the Seventh Heaven. "Yes?"

"Beyond there, two docks down."

The fact that he did not drop Demyx into the water right then and there used up his 'nice' quota for the rest of the year.

* * *

By the time Zexion had managed to make his way back to Seventh Heaven, the bar was closed and the lights were dim, indicating that even the cleaning was nearly complete. Offering a short greeting to Cloud as he walked into the building, he was quickly met by Tifa who asked, "So, how are you doing?"

He glared at her, to which she gave him a bemused smile, "Did you get ravished?"

"… _what_?"

"Oh, I guess not," she replied, in the sort of tone one uses to talk of the weather when it is raining squid. "Anyway, I know Demyx isn't that type of person. I've known him for a while, you know. He's been coming and going, but he never stays very long. I don't think he's as comfortable on land as he is on water. Nice guy; his heart is the right place… for a pirate, at least."

"I'm not falling for it," he replied flatly.

She patted him on the shoulder, "You will, eventually. Everyone does. It's part of his charm."

And with those kind parting words and awful premonition, she walked outside to try and coax Cloud in for the night, leaving Zexion open-mouthed (and sputtering slightly) at both her audacity and the puddle of vomit that she had left for him to clean.

End Notes:  
So, I can't decide if this took me more or less time than I thought it would, all things considered. I have been writing, but a lot of it has been for a collaboration I'm doing with a friend. I did manage to get this one done, but I think it's because I had no video games or internet service to distract me for a while. I've had a bit written for a while now, but I needed to do the rewrite and finish out the chapter.  
On a side note, I'm sorta looking for a beta for my KH fics. I'm writing a few Zexion-based fics, with many different couples (so not just Demyx x Zexion). If anyone is interested, drop me a line? I haven't done the hunt for a beta in a long time, so I'm not really sure what I'm looking for. Probably someone who has good grammar and characterization, and who doesn't mind the odd shit that I plan on writing….  
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	3. curiosity killed the cat

Title: Crow's Nest  
Disclaimer: Do we see Zexion selling himself on the street corner, wearing nothing more than lacy underwear? No? Then I don't own the series.  
Notes: Oops, forgot to thank everyone in the last chapter. So here goes! Much thanks to everyone for reading, reviewing, or otherwise acknowledging that this fic has ruined your existence in some lovely way. It is much appreciated, especially when your reviews help guilt me into working on the next chapter!

On the beta thing, a friend of mine has offered to read over my work when I need her to, so I think I'm pretty much set on that front. Thanks to those for offering though!

Anyhow, work continues _very_ slowly on this fic. School has started again, and with it law school applications, which will be my constant excuse over the next few months for why the story is not being updated. I rather would like to have a monthly update schedule; it's a bit long between chapters, but I think it's something I could manage. As an aside, if you're ever wondering where the next chapter is or what the status of it is, I tend to update my profile about every two weeks with a progress report, just to pretend that I'm actually doing something productive….

chapter 3: curiosity killed the cat

Zexion was what some people would term a creature of habit. It was especially applicable when it came to his sleeping patterns, or perhaps more precisely his _waking_ up patterns. For every morning, regardless of the time he had gone to sleep the previous night, he would awaken at precisely eight without need of an alarm clock or any sort of signal.

Waking him up _prior_ to this point, however, was the equivalent of suicide. The point was aptly made when Cloud had once upon a time inadvertently awakened Zexion at seven-thirty. Needless to say, forgiveness was not particularly high on Zexion's list of priorities—before the hour was up, all of Cloud's hair care products had been thrown off the nearest dock, causing the blond great distress for countless weeks due to an increasing resemblance to a chocobo as the days went by. This in turn resulted in potentially scarring incidents, which at its climax involved a wild chocobo attempting to mate with what seemed to it a very sexy individual, causing much trauma to both Cloud and anyone within eyeshot.

So to put it lightly, waking Zexion up prior to the exact time he wanted to wake up was not an endeavor most people would willingly undergo, particularly those who worked closely with him and knew from personal experience that Zexion's brilliant mind was sadly at its _most_ brilliant when coming up with complicated and cruel revenges on anyone who dared disrupt his sleeping schedule.

Demyx, however, was not privy to this very important fact.

This was really quite reasonable, seeing how he had only met Zexion the day before and they had not really had the opportunity to talk, let alone get to know intimate details of how each person's biological clock operated. Carrying the pirate clear across town had seemingly robbed Zexion of his already little-used vocal cords, and Demyx had not really been in any condition to talk either when every step seemed to jar his stomach and made him want to projectile vomit. Luckily he had managed to resist the urge, as it was doubtful Zexion would appreciate vomit on his person anymore than he appreciated it on the floor he had just spent two hours scrubbing, but either way Demyx did not know of the sacred rule of not making any sounds near the Seventh Heaven prior to eight in the morning, as besides being a creature of habit, Zexion was also a light sleeper.

The combination of these two characteristics was not ideal, and when Demyx was included it was close to self-imploding. Particularly since Demyx's opinion of an early morning—early morning being approximately six-thirteen, give or take forty-three seconds—greeting came in the form of banging on the door and yelling in an obnoxiously cheerful voice, "Good morning, everyone!"

Reactions to this wake-up call varied. Tifa simply turned onto her other side, mumbling in her sleep but showing no other signs that she was even aware of the ruckus going on at the front door. Either that or she just didn't care, seeing how nobody would dare break into the bar when there was a certified black belt 'I can kick your ass in forty seconds or less and still look completely gorgeous' martial artist sleeping upstairs, as well as the 'I am not compensating' sword-wielding delivery boy crashing in the guest room.

(And Zexion. We dare not forget Zexion, even if he did have stick-thin arms.)

Cloud, on the other hand, did awaken. However, he also convinced himself that it had to be a hallucination, since nobody in their right—of which many people were of the opinion that Cloud was not, but nobody dared point out this fact due to the 'I am not compensating' sword—would want to disturb the serenity of the early morning. So three seconds later, he had gone back to cuddling a rag doll with silver hair and was fast asleep in five.

Unfortunately for Demyx, Zexion was not Tifa or Cloud. Zexion could not ignore the noise or simply fall asleep again. After all, another characteristic of his sleeping patterns was that it took him a long time to fall asleep in the first place; again, not exactly the most ideal thing ever, especially considering his other habits. Still, this did explain why the other two residents of Seventh Heaven remained blissfully unaware of Demyx's pounding on the door, and why they were equally unaware of when it stopped as suddenly as it had started, courtesy of one knife to the throat and a half-snarled, half groggy, "What the **fuck** do you think you're doing?"

Demyx squeaked, sufficiently traumatized even though Zexion looked half-ready to fall asleep on his feet. This, combined with the fact that Zexion apparently slept without a shirt (which may or may not account for the puddle of drool slowly accumulating at Demyx's feet, which luckily went completely unnoticed by Zexion) could have been construed as comical, if it wasn't for… well, the knife at the throat. That sort of thing was not exactly butterflies and rainbows, and it got the message through quite efficiently.

Perhaps a little too efficiently, considering how after three minutes Zexion was still waiting for an answer and Demyx seemed to be suffering a panic attack that made it sound rather like he was hyperventilating. Tempted as he was to let the pirate have an asthma attack and die, Zexion sighed and released Demyx instead. After all, he didn't have much interest in having an angry hoard of pirate minions coming after him for doing in their captain, no matter how much of a blessing it was to the sanity of the world. Slipping the knife away, he stepped back and crossed his arms, glaring at Demyx through unbrushed hair.

Again, this was a comical sight, but Demyx knew better than to laugh at his unkempt appearance. Instead, he gave Zexion a nervous smile as he said, "Um… well, I thought I'd come over to say hi. I mean, I feel really bad about what happened last night, and I just wanted to apologize for the trouble I caused you. It was really nice of you to help me back, and I know you didn't have to but you did anyway, and-"

"Tifa made me," Zexion interrupted bluntly. He would have answered more quickly but the words were taking a bit longer to process than usual. All he really wanted was to go back to bed. Even if he didn't manage to get back to sleep—and he probably wouldn't—he could at least try to smother himself with a pillow until he lapsed into a comatose state. Perhaps then, he might not be able to hear Demyx no longer how hard he banged on the door. "Otherwise, I would never have bothered."

_With the likes of you_ went unsaid, but it hung between them.

Demyx gaped at him as if he had just threatened to eat his pet bunny with a side of his favorite goldfish, "That's… that's not a very nice thing to say!"

He shrugged, "And it is the truth."

"But it isn't very nice!"

He rolled his eyes before replying coolly, "Nobody ever said the truth was supposed to be nice." With that helpful advice, he turned to walk back towards the bar before belatedly adding in a low voice, "And I am not a very nice person."

As he did so, he wondered vaguely if he would be able to climb the tree back up to his room. He wasn't entirely sure how he had managed to get down in the first place, too enraged to think of anything else but death, destruction, and clubbing baby seals. And drunk as he was on these visions of killing, he had conveniently forgotten to bring his keys down when he had (somehow) made his way to ground level in order to confront the blond terrorizing his sleep.

But in the end it did not really matter, as (luckily or unluckily, depending on one's opinion of Zexion's tree-climbing skills) Demyx grabbed his arm to stop him from leaving. "Wait! Please don't leave! I just wanted to—um…."

Demyx's voice trailed off as Zexion was jerked back. Unprepared as he was for this, Zexion ended up losing his balance and falling backwards onto the ground in a stupendous crash—which in turn caused Tifa to snort and roll onto her other side while Cloud just squeezed the doll tighter. And seeing how Demyx had failed to let go, he was sent tumbling on top of Zexion, his weight causing the smaller man to gasp in pain.

As the dust settled, Demyx squeaked, "Sorry… don't be mad?"

Zexion closed his eyes, trying to fight off the headache that was threatening what precious little was left of his sanity. He settled for pushing Demyx off so he could put sufficient distance between them, although _not nearly enough_. Demyx would have to be halfway to Antarctica for the distance to be enough. "I am going to kill you."

"Don't you think you're overreacting?" Demyx whined. "It's not like I did that on purpose or anything like that, and I wouldn't have done that if you would just _listen_. I just wanted-"

"Do I honestly look like I care what you want?" he snapped. He could not believe the… _nerve_ of this pirate, looking so hurt that witnesses would have sworn that Zexion was the guilty party instead of it being the other way around.

Yet along with the obvious irritation he felt, he also felt almost… ashamed. Which was ridiculous because _Demyx_ was the one who was being an ass, yet somehow that fact just was not registering. Even when he reminded himself quite firmly that Demyx was a pirate, and therefore usual cases of morality and kindness didn't apply to them seeing how they made their living by pillaging other people's (theoretically) hard-earned possessions, he still could not help but feel like he was doing something cruel.

Was it because Demyx seemed so damned incompetent when it came to the entire pirating business? But that was the thing; appearances, personality, and first impressions aside, it was clear that Demyx could not be nearly as moronic as he seemed to be. Skewed or not, there had to be some explanation for his reputation, and Zexion somehow doubted it had anything to do with the constant apologies and apparent desperation to be on everyone's good side. No, despite the almost self-depreciating way he acted, Demyx still carried himself with a sort of casual confidence that people unconsciously respected. Low opinion of the man aside, Zexion had to admit that there had to be a reason why Demyx was one of the most formidable pirates now sailing the seas, and he had enough of an analytic mind not to pin it all to luck.

Unfortunately, it was at this point that logic failed him, as he could not come up with any other reason why Demyx would be as good at this business as he was.

This was a key point, for as it turned out, besides being a creature of habit Zexion was also quite curious. Mysteries and anomalies bothered him; he wanted to know why things were, how they worked. He needed to be able to explain things that made no sense. It gave him something to do, especially on this island, where it didn't take long to figure out how everything worked. As much as he deplored them, pirates at least offered something for him to think about, such as why everyone seemed so damn enamored with them when they were usually nothing more than drunken thieves.

And Demyx? Even when he was drunk, and even though he was a thief, Demyx seemed different from all of that. And Zexion could not help but be intrigued. At the very least, he wanted to know why people seemed to be genuinely scared of this… _kid_ who did not know how or when to stop apologizing, or the subtleties of _keeping his mouth shut_. Everything about Demyx logically stated that he should have been in the bottommost rung of the universal pecking order, yet people respected him despite a personality that seemed decidedly ill-suited for the pirating world.

"You are not like the other pirates." It took him a moment to realize that he had spoken this thought out-loud.

Demyx blinked at him, open-mouthed, before asking hesitantly, "Um… thanks? Wait, is that even supposed to be a compliment?"

He shrugged, even as he realized that he might be getting a little too curious for his own good. He had a feeling that this was going to end up being more trouble than it was worth; but then, what else did he have to do now? Working at the Seventh Heaven had never been the most satisfying of occupations, but it had provided a distraction from his desire to leave, a desire that continued to eat away at him each day. There was only so long that would last though, and it had not taken him long to recognize that his desperation was starting to go up in spades. This mystery might, at least, be interesting enough to distract him for a little longer, might work to keep down that urge to throw himself off the nearest cliff and back into the water to escape this damned island that offered so little stimulation for his mind.

Of course, this didn't stop Zexion from wishing that it could have been someone else to pin his curiosity onto, but beggars cannot be choosers or however that saying went.

… Speaking of clichés, the practical side of his brain was reminding him of a _different_ saying that was also quite applicable to his situation. He chose to very maturely ignore it. Instead, he forced himself to focus on Demyx's worried expression, fighting down the wave of irritation that immediately followed and threatened to put a damper to his plans. That and the desire to sleep, but he pushed both aside as he ran a hand through his bangs and wondered for the fifteenth time that morning if being stuck on this island was starting to affect his brain cell count.

He let out the breath that he had been holding, careful to keep his voice bored and uninterested as he said, "Fine. I accept your apology. Now what is it that you want, exactly?"

Demyx beamed at him, and he was suddenly struck with the inexplicable urge to run away. But before he could act on this impulse, a jacket—well-worn material of faded blue, still warm to the touch—was placed over his shoulders. He blinked again, unconsciously clutching the too-large coat closer, but before he could ask Demyx said by way of explanation, "You looked cold."

He said nothing, not having even realized that he was cold, and Demyx's face seemed to take on a look of panic as the pirate said quickly, "Um, but if you don't want it you don't have to—I mean, I just thought that… you know, in case? I don't want you getting sick or something like that—Tifa would kill me! Well, not kill me, but she would definitely hurt me… or at the very least lecture me, and then she'd probably make me stick around to clean! But I guess this is sorta weird so maybe if you want your own stuff…?"

"It's fine," he said quietly as he fingered the jacket, the acceptance cutting off Demyx's ramble. Demyx grinned at him sheepishly, and Zexion thought quite firmly that the reason why he had agreed was purely because he did not want to try climbing the tree and potentially embarrass himself. Nor did he want someone like Demyx going through his personal belongings—of which there was admittedly little, but it was a matter of principle. And it was most definitely **not** because he could not help but notice how the light blue shirt seemed to bring out the color of Demyx's eyes, giving them an almost sparkle that was really quite attractive, or the fact that the pirate had a nice smile when he actually meant it, rather than sheepishly apologizing for every perceived sleight, no matter how tiny.

This observation was immediately followed by a wave of disgust, causing him to scowl and quickly walk away, not even bothering to wait to make sure that Demyx was coming.

* * *

It turned out that what Demyx wanted was simply someone to talk to. Zexion failed to see how this miraculously translated to him being the prime candidate (although he supposed it was possible that Demyx had gone to other places, but Zexion was simply the first person insane enough to entertain his demands) for said attentions, especially considering how they had only met less than twenty-four hours ago. That and how they had essentially nothing in common, but for once he staved off his curiosity.

After all, it had taken Zexion less than two minutes to realize that asking Demyx questions was a **really bad idea** when the idiot's was seemingly incapable of answering simple 'yes' or 'no' questions without what seemed like an hour long monologue on… well, something because Zexion had cleverly tuned it all out the moment he realized that things were going severely off-topic. He did not even want to imagine the lecture—a dry laugh, considering the irony that _Demyx_ had been the one afraid of a lecture from Tifa—he would receive if he dared to ask a question that required more than a single-word response. Therefore, he decided that it was in his best interest to keep his mouth shut.

But while it had taken him less than two minutes to come to this realization, it took exactly two minutes to decide that keeping quiet was not really an option either, as Demyx seemed determined to fill up the silence with words, no matter how unwanted or unnecessary they were. Zexion wondered if this ever presented an issue when it came to stealth missions, as he had assumed—perhaps a naïve sort of way—that pirates were more occasionally required to do that sort of thing when escaping law enforcement. And considering how Demyx was standing here and not in prison or better yet at the gallows, Zexion could only assume that Demyx actually _was_ capable of keeping his mouth shut.

The idiot simply had no interest in utilizing that skill right now.

His eye twitched as Demyx opened his mouth—most likely to launch into the story of his birth or something equally ridiculous—and he asked before he could stop himself, "Do you ever shut up?"

The question was not so much an insult as it was an actual inquiry, but Demyx's mouth immediately closed and he found himself fixated with a hurt expression that made the pirate resemble a kicked dog. This sort of expression—combined with Demyx's kind blue eyes that _Zexion did not care about_—was more than enough to make anyone with half a heart feel guilty, including Zexion, who was not the type of person to feel shame for speaking his mind to those he deemed inferior to himself. But before he could apologize, or at least try to explain that it was not really meant to be an affront, Demyx sighed, "I guess not. I really did think I was getting better at it, but I guess I was just kidding myself."

He looked so thoroughly depressed at this that Zexion felt obligated to try and make him feel better. Although this was something more easily said than done—it was easier to pull teeth out of Bahamut's teeth than it was to get an apology out of the young man.

"I'm… sorry," he finally said, and the fact that he actually meant it made the moment all the more significant. "I did not mean to offend you."

Demyx gave him a small grin, "Hey, don't worry about it. It's not like you're the first person to tell me that I talk too much. Axel used to tell me that _all_ the time, even though he knew I didn't like it. Or maybe it was because he knew I didn't like it that he kept telling me that…."

"Who?" Zexion asked before he could stop himself. Damn curiosity.

"Axel… you've never heard of him?" When Zexion didn't respond, Demyx continued, "Well… he was my first mate a while back. But there were, y'know, _issues_."

"Issues," he repeated, not sure if he wanted to know what _that_ meant.

"Serious issues," Demyx nodded. "He was a pyro."

The absurdity of this concept was so great that it actually took a few moments to sink in. "You cannot be serious."

"Ask anyone. He's _famous_ for it! I mean… he's an okay guy and all, besides the fact that he has a short temper and gets pretty obsessive and he's sort of an asshole… but all of that stuff is pretty typical. It's just that when he starts trying to blow up my ship 'cause he's _bored_… well, even he can't stop a fire when it really gets out of control! Which it did… _twice_. So I asked him _really_ nicely to leave—even asked the others for help and wrote it down and _everything_ but then he set my notes on fire and I might have messed it up a bit... well, he was pretty upset over that, and then there was that weird incident with Roxas and the honey so now he _hates_ me even though I didn't even do anything! But then he _really_ tried to set fire to my ship on purpose and if it wasn't for the fact that-" Demyx suddenly stopped mid-sentence, gaping at Zexion as he turned bright red, "But you probably don't care about any of that, right?"

A part of him wanted to agree, but it was a very small part lacking veto powers over the rest of his brain. "So why didn't your ship sink?"

"Oh… no real reason!" Demyx laughed nervously. "I mean, there's no reason why it wouldn't **not** sink, right?"

His only response was to give the pirate a _look_, a long, steady gaze that was excellent for prying information from the most unwilling of sources. Demyx, whose ability to resist pressure was more or less on par with a paper bag's capacity to withstand a hurricane, fidgeted for two seconds before sighing in defeat, "Promise not to laugh?"

Zexion shrugged, which was as close to an agreement as anyone was going to get. But it was a fairly easy promise to make, seeing how he never laughed at people. For why laugh at them when he could verbally abuse them instead? He was actually quite famous for this interesting trait, although like his sleeping patterns, it seemed that Demyx was not yet acquainted with this fact.

Yet, being the operative word.

"Well…" Demyx started slowly, but then said in a rush of words so quick that Zexion barely had time to comprehend them, "I sorta kinda use magic."

Immediately Demyx cringed, obviously expecting him to laugh or degrade the words as silliness. Instead he stayed silent, keeping his face completely calm as the pirate realized that he was _not_ going to laugh, causing Demyx to perk up and say excitedly, "Well… it's not quite magic, I guess. That's just what I call it 'cause I don't know how else to explain it. But I'm not the only one. Axel, for example, controls fire—which is actually more useful than it sounds when he's not trying to burn the main mast. A lot of the more famous pirates have powers too. I've heard of one guy who can control the wind so that he's unmatched by any other ship for speed, and even Sephiroth is said to-"

"What about you?" Zexion interrupted, keeping on his expression of general disinterest although he was fairly certain his face had twitched slightly. "What do you control?"

"Oh… well, I don't really _control_," Demyx corrected. "It's more like I just… ask. And the ocean listens."

"You have power over water?"

Demyx flailed at this terminology as he turned to face Zexion for the first time since the conversation started. "Ask! I just ask! She listens, most of the time. She's not as bad as most people think; it's not like she's deliberately trying to hurt us or anything. She just has her own way of doing things. And sure, she has her bad days, but who doesn't? You just have to make an effort to understand." Noticing that Zexion was staring at him as if he'd grown an extra head, Demyx said in a half-accusatory, half-petulant tone, "You promised not to laugh."

"I was not laughing," Zexion replied calmly. "And I have no intention of doing so either."

"Then does that mean you believe me?" Demyx asked.

He shrugged, "I doubt that even you would make up such a fantastical story if it was not true."

"Thanks!" Demyx said brightly before the full implications of Zexion's comment sunk in. "Wait. Are you making fun of me?"

At this, Zexion could not help but smile slightly, "A bit."

"That isn't very nice."

"And I believe we already established why that is," Zexion said dryly.

"Yeah, but still!" Demyx frowned at him, "I thought I was supposed to be the pirate. I can be quite fearsome, you know."

"Of course," he said, suddenly bombarded with the mental image of Demyx poking someone with a sword while screaming apologies. That was, before he passed out at the first sight of blood. Fearsome indeed. Well, at least this explained how Demyx had earned a reputation as a successful pirate despite the many factors—his personality, for example—that seemed to be working against him.

Demyx grinned at him, the same, cheerful and _real_ smile that Zexion found himself liking despite himself. "You know, I don't think you're nearly as mean as you try to be."

The moment was broken, and Zexion suddenly felt like he was coming out of a haze that had momentarily obscured the real facts. Both of them had gotten too comfortable, but while Demyx was now just saying what was on his mind, Zexion had gotten complacent until being reminded of _exactly_ why he tried to be 'mean' in the first place.

"Really," he said, narrowing his eyes at the pirate.

"Yeah, really," Demyx nodded, apparently not noticing the slightly dangerous tone Zexion had taken. "I think you're just lonely. And I know that we pirates aren't exactly the best company, but we're not all _that_ bad and maybe if-"

"And what do you care?" he snapped, cutting Demyx off as he got to his feet. Demyx looked shocked at this reaction, but before he could say anything else, Zexion was off like a shot, not even waiting for the inevitable apology as he turned the corner and disappeared out of sight. With some flailing, punctuated by a yelp-slash-curse, Demyx stood to follow but ended up walking right by where Zexion had concealed himself in his haste.

Zexion waited to make sure that Demyx would not unexpectedly be returning. Once he was certain, he emerged from his spot, scowling and cursing himself for allowing himself to be so easily led _again_ as he quickly started towards the Seventh Heaven, sticking to the alleys to ensure that he would not be running into _any_ pirates on the way back.

End Notes:

As you might have, ah, noticed, the category for this fic has been changed from humor to drama. I'm not sure if because this story just doesn't want to lend itself to the humor category, or if it's because I just fail at writing funny stuff nowadays. Perhaps both?

Sorry this chapter took a bit longer to get out than I expected. The characterization just felt a bit awkward at times, so I ended up having to rewrite a few times before I was satisfied with what was going on in the fic. Hopefully I can figure out how I want to tackle this fic, especially since there are approximately seven more chapters to go….


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